


Because of Candy Corn

by DarthAbby



Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter/Funhaus RPF
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Fake AH Crew, GTA AU, Gen, Implied Character Death, Language
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-04
Updated: 2015-11-04
Packaged: 2018-04-29 20:13:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,433
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5141048
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DarthAbby/pseuds/DarthAbby
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Gavin just wanted some candy corn and now look where they are - tear-stained and exhausted from grief in a safe house.</p>
<p>Belated Halloween fic for BB, who finally got me writing again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Because of Candy Corn

**Author's Note:**

  * For [TheBookwormBakery](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheBookwormBakery/gifts).



Sirens were wailing outside, but that was nothing new. As Geoff looked around the penthouse and found that Jeremy and Gavin were missing, he decided it wasn’t even surprising. Michael and Jack were playing _Trials_ on the couch, while Ryan relaxed in an armchair, idly flipping through a Home  & Garden magazine. Geoff was looking over the plans for their next heist, not in any detail, but just to make sure they had enough vehicles on backorder.

There came the unmistakable sound of a bike landing upside down for the thousandth time, and Michael swore loudly.

“Since when is _Jack_ the best gamer here?” he complained, throwing down his controller onto the couch cushions. “I thought for sure I’d get that title after Ray left.”

“If you’ve got it, you’ve got it, Jones,” Jack laughed, completing that level and continuing on to the next with ease.

It was quiet for a few moments, then the last two came through the door.

“Happy Halloween, bitches!” Gavin crowed, carrying an obscene amount of candy in his arms. Jeremy had a smaller load, but it was still a fair amount.

“Have you two been stealing from trick-or-treaters?” Jack asked sternly, pausing their game and turning to frown at the Lads.

“No,” Jeremy immediately denied.

“Maybe,” Gavin said at the same time. They glanced at each other, then back at Jack.

“I mean, uh, possibly?”

“No, of course not.”

Michael snickered. “Cover story, much?” As he got up to go steal some candy from Gavin, who loudly protested, Jack went back to _Trials._

Jeremy dumped half of his candy onto the table across from Geoff, then turned to go.

“Where’re you off to?”

“Nowhere important if you need me, boss.”

“Nah, you can go,” Geoff flashed him a smile. “Just curious.”

“I’m headed over to Matt’s place,” Jeremy explained. “Halloween tradition. We dress up as Chewie and Han Solo and make sure anyone who’s messing with kids gets what’s coming to them.”

Geoff snorted. “Have fun fighting the good fight.”

Jeremy gave him a mock salute and headed out, Geoff watching him go with a considering look.

“We should do something for Halloween,” he said suddenly.

Ryan raised an eyebrow over his magazine and Jack’s shoulders stiffened. Team Nice Dynamite paused mid-wrestle to look up at him, Michael sitting on top of Gavin.

"Geoff, the last time we 'did something' for Halloween, twenty three people died, a tank ended up in the ocean, Ray nearly went blind, Jack's fake beard was glued on for a week, Ryan's shoulder was dislocated _twice_ in the span of about three hours, Gavin lost an eyebrow, you were on crutches for three weeks afterwards, and I not only lost my tank, but nearly lost my life along with it," Michael ticked off on his fingers. "I distinctly remember you saying afterwards that we were never doing Halloween ever again."

“That was years ago,” Geoff waved off. “Long as dicks.”

“Two years,” Jack corrected. “Not that long.”

“Ah, come on, we don’t even have to do anything big!” Geoff said, hardly able to believe that he was basically begging his own crew, the one _he was in charge of_ , to do something fun on Halloween. “What, do you want to implement some rules, Jack?”

“No murdering or torturing people,” they immediately responded. “There are kids out there, just having some fun. No need to freak them out.”

“No stealing candy from them, either,” Ryan added, giving Gavin a stern look.

“They were teenagers, Rye, not bloody toddlers! I’m not that mean.”

“Debatable.”

"How about no real blood?" Michael suggested, and holy shit they were actually going along with this.

"Not even a little?"

"No, Ryan."

"What if it's Gavin's?"

"Oi!"

“We should probably wear costumes,” Geoff said, smiling at them all. “But nothing psychologically scarring.”

"We still have those animal masks, why don't we do that?" Everyone seemed to be agreeable to that, so Jack turned off their game and stood up. "And Geoff, for the love of god, put on a shirt this time."

"But bison don't wear shirts!”

* * *

 

This was, by far, the most surreal thing Michael had done in as far as he could remember (and yes, he was counting that time he walked in on Ray helping Ryan get out of a tight leather catsuit, for reasons neither had ever explained). Walking down the streets of Los Santos with no explosives and minimal weaponry, wearing a bear mask and accompanied by the oddest assortment of animals.

First, there was Jack, channeling their inner Lindsay by wearing not only a cat mask, but a shirt with a large cat head on it.

Gavin had donned a fox head, and was humming _What Does the Fox Say?_ in a continuous and tone-deaf way.

Geoff was in his bison mask and had been talked into wearing a shirt by Jack (with some mildly threatening help via Ryan).

And Ryan… Michael wasn’t sure where the Gent had dug up the raccoon mask, but it was freakishly cartoonish and somehow more frightening then their more realistic masks.

The only thing that was missing was Ray and his owl mask, letting out a monotone ‘ _hoo_ ’ every few seconds.

But Ray was needed in New York, taking over the smuggling ring his family had built up now that his mom had decided to retire. He had promised to come back, but Michael knew as well as anyone that this business had a way of breaking your promises for you. At least he still kept in touch, mainly through snapchats of himself looking deathly bored in meetings and the occasional picture of the NYC skyline from some rooftop.

He would have loved this, the sheer ridiculousness of it, and the way that little kids dressed up as any sort of animal would rush up to them excitedly and babble on to them about everything and nothing. He also would have loved the air of extreme awkwardness that Ryan had whenever the kids, for whatever reason, ran up to him first out of any of the others.

“Look!” Gavin said suddenly, drawing Michael out of his musings. “Candy corn!”

A corner store down the street did indeed have a large display of candy corn just behind the doors.

“Gavin, you have a ton of candy back home.” Geoff said, looking distinctly unimpressed.

“Yeah, but none of it is candy corn,” Gavin whined. “It’s not Halloween without candy corn, Geoff!”

“We do all have weapons,” Ryan pointed out, and Jack was looking thoughtful as Michael and Gavin shared a grin.

* * *

“Remind me to never let Gavin choose the locations of impromptu heists ever again!” Geoff yelled.

“You certainly didn’t help the situation, Geoffrey!” Jack snapped before Gavin could complain. “Shut up and let me drive!”

The heist, as always, had seemed laughably simple before it went to shit.

Initially they were just supposed to go in, get the sweets, and get out. But then Geoff had found a large selection of liqueur in the back that was just begging to be stolen, and Michael and Ryan had both decided that if they were going to rob the place, they might as well do it properly and take the money, too.

Unfortunately, no one had killed the cashier in time to prevent him hitting the panic button under the counter, so the police were on their asses almost immediately, which was how they all ended up shoved into a little sedan, which was the first car Jack had gotten to with more than two seats.

Fortunately, because of the sheer amount of inebriated people out on the streets and in costume, it had taken very little effort to ditch the animal masks and grab some new ones, which was how Anonymous (Michael) found himself squished in between Jason’s bloody hockey mask (Gavin) and Obama (Ryan) in the backseat while the Scream (Jack) drove and Spiderman (Geoff) kept a lookout for police.

If only they had been able to get a sniper on a roof, or at least someone in a back alley on a motorcycle to draw the police away. But Ray was across the country and Jeremy was off terrorizing other gang members, while everyone else in Geoff’s extended crew had already been given the night off.

“Chopper coming in,” Geoff said tensely, and everyone felt a sinking feeling in their chests. They didn’t have anything heavy enough on them to take out a chopper, just handguns.

A tinny rendition of ‘ _Tubthumping_ ’ cut through the air without warning, making everyone jump slightly before Michael took his phone out of his pocket.

“Not the best time for a chat, Ray.”

_“It’s never a good time with you.”_

“Yeah, yeah. What do you want?”

_“Who said I wanted anything?”_ Michael could just about hear the smirk in Ray’s voice. _“Can’t I just want to catch up with my old friend?”_

“At – what time is it there? One A.M.? Seriously?”

_“Yeah, dude, I’m here to wish you a merry Christmas. It’s November 1st on the East Coast, so Halloween is now dead.”_

“You’re dumb.”

_“And it sounds like you’re in trouble. Any way I can help?”_

“Not unless you have some seriously long-range missiles,” Michael sighed. “We’ve got a chopper coming in and no way to take it out.”

Ray laughed, long and loud, and Michael scowled. “Glad to know my life means so little to you.”

_“It’s not the police.”_

“What?”

_“The chopper,”_ Ray explained, still laughing a little. _“It’s not the police.”_

“How the fuck do you know that?”

_“Because it’s me!”_

Michael put his phone down and leaned forward to look through the sunroof. He was able to see a light come on in the cockpit of the helicopter, and the pilot inside waved at them before the light flickered back out again. He grinned and raised the phone back up to his ear.

“What the fuck are you doing, Narvaez?” he laughed.

_“Saving your asses, apparently. I came out to have a good time, and I’m honestly feeling so attacked right now.”_

“Shut the fuck up and land.” Michael’s smile was wide and his heart was pounding for a reason completely different to the police following them.

_“Aye, aye, Captain Grumpy.”_

“Jack, go to the chopper,” Michael directed as he hung up. “It’s Ray.”

As expected, he was immediately assaulted by questions from everyone, but he ignored them all in favor of watching the helicopter descend nearby with excitement.

There was a horribly familiar rattling sound of gunfire, and Ray’s chopper rose back up jerkily. Michael’s smile faded as quickly as it had formed.

“What’s going on?” Gavin demanded. “Where’s he going?”

“There’s another chopper,” Ryan said, peering out his window. “Pretty sure this one is police.”

Michael and Geoff cursed simultaneously as Jack changed course.

“They’re shooting at Ray,” Ryan narrated, his agitated growl at odds with the smiling face of the president on his head. “It doesn’t seem like he has a gunner.”

Michael practically climbed into Ryan’s lap to see what was going on. The older man grumbled a bit, but didn’t push him away.

Both helicopters had swung out, away from the highway and over the ocean. Ray was evidently trying to drawn them away from the crew, as he had done so many times before on a motorcycle with his rifle on his back, but a helicopter is much less maneuverable than a bike, and there’s not much cover in the open sky. Without anyone to provide covering fire, Ray was hurting – his back rotor was smoking slightly already.

Michael’s phone was up to his ear and ringing before he could even think about it. It rang a few times before going to voicemail.

* * *

_“Ayy, this is Ray. If you have this number, then I assume that either you want me to kill someone or I owe you money. If it’s to kill someone, I will get back you ASAP. If I owe you money, then good luck getting a hold of me ever, hah! Oh, and if this is Michael, trying to prevent me from doing something AWESOME that has probably already happened at this point, then I’ll give you a blowjob after I get out of the hospital to make up for it.”_

_Beeeeeep_

_You have one new message! From ‘My-Cool Jones’, on Saturday at 11:39 P.M._

_Beeeeep_

_“Ray, pick up, or I swear to god I’ll – oh my god.”_

_“FUCK!”_

_“No, no, no, no, no, nononononononononononono –”_

_“Jack, turn around, TURN AROUND!”_

_“RAY!”_

_“Oh my god, oh my god, this can’t be happening –”_

_“TURN THE FUCK AROUND, WE HAVE TO GO BACK!”_

_“AAAAAAAAAAAGGGGGGGGGGGGGGH!”_

_“RAY, NO –”_

_Beeeeep_

_End of message. To delete this message, press 7._

* * *

Michael was bodily carried into the safehouse by Ryan, fighting every step to go back to the car, to drive back down the highway, to try and convince himself that what he had seen was just a trick, an illusion, anything but the truth –

Because there was no way that Ray had come all the way back to Los Santos – and Michael didn’t even know why he was back or when he’d arrive or how long he was supposed to stay or if he ever had to go back to New York – there was no way he’d come all that way and stolen a chopper and had been seconds away from helping them escape the police, only to be shot down right next to them, his helicopter taking too many hits and catching on fire and plummeting down and down and down and down and there was nothing for Michael to do, no way to stop it.

“Please,” he said, and his voice had broken at this point, hoarse from yelling and from the looming threat of acceptance of what had happened. “Please, Rye, let me go, I just – I just need to _see_ –”

Ryan was immoveable, though, and Michael’s fight was leaving him. Once the door closed, he slumped against the most wanted man in half the world like a child. “Please.” His voice had dropped to a whisper.

Strong hands on his shoulder were all that kept him upright, steering him into the room and settling him onto the couch, next to another warm body that Michael didn’t want to look at, didn’t want to know the identity of, because until they spoke he could pretend it was Ray instead.

They leaned against each other tiredly, Michael and the unknown crewmember, the adrenalin of a good police chase drained away in one fiery moment.

Invincible. That’s what they were supposed to be: untouchable, unstoppable, eternal, _invincible_. The Fake AH Crew. The alpha dogs, the winners, the people who pickpocketed Death itself. There had been close calls before, risky escapes, miraculous misses, enough that some people thought them immortal. And maybe somewhere along the line, they had started to believe it themselves. But not tonight. Not ever again. They felt very, very mortal tonight.

“It,” Geoff sighed, from somewhere out of Michael’s line of sight. “It’ll be okay.”

No one replied, because they all knew it was a lie. It had been bad enough when Ray was called back to his mother’s side, when he promised to keep in touch and had swapped beanies with Michael at the airport. This was worse, a million times so, because there was no such thing as ‘call waiting’ where Ray had gone now.

He hadn’t put a word to it yet, a label, a name; they felt too permanent, like if he could just keep dodging the question, eventually it would turn out to be a lie, a gross, dirty lie, one that got your mouth washed out with soap over the bathtub.

Michael stared listlessly at the floor, at the heavy black boots he knew belonged to Ryan, and ran his tongue over the backs of his teeth, almost able to taste the bubbles.

Something bounced on the carpet, the Obama mask that Ryan had stolen, and Michael’s eyes flicked up to see him rub a tired hand over his face, smearing the paint spectacularly.

“We don’t know what happened,” Jack said hesitantly, taking a microscopic step towards Ryan. “It was dark.”

“It was a fireball,” Ryan said tonelessly, covering his eyes with his hand, like a child that thinks that nothing bad can happen to them if they can’t see the bad things. “It was too high in the air for a safe water landing.”

Jack didn’t have a reply to that, even though Michael desperately wanted one. Wanted Jack to tell Ryan why he was wrong, why it was entirely possible – plausible – _likely_ that their former sniper would walk through the door at any minute, wringing out his jacket and asking what the WiFi password is for this place.

Michael would give anything for that right now.

An arm came up and settled over his shoulders, the person he was sat next to (and he knew who it had to be, there was only one person who hadn’t spoken yet, but he wanted to continue the illusion of sitting next to Ray for a little while longer) pulling him closer, letting him rest his head on their shoulder, resting their cheek against the crown of his head. He felt like a child, but he didn’t mind. There were many worse things he could feel like at the moment.

It was easier to block out the world in that moment, so that’s what Michael did. He closed his eyes and turned more fully into Gavin’s shoulder before retreating into his own head.

* * *

Jack was outside, hours later, when they heard the soft crunch of gravel under shoes. Buried in the sedan’s engine as they were, it was only seconds to pull out their gun and drop into a defensive position by the front right wheel.

A figure, limping slightly and walking very slowly, entered their field of vision.

“Hold it,” Jack called out sharply, making the stranger pause. “Don’t come any closer; I have a gun and am unafraid to use it.”

“I know.”

It was a voice hoarse from exhaustion and seawater, but Jack knew it immediately. The gun clattered to the ground as they sprinted over to the stranger.

“Oh, thank _god_.”

* * *

The door opened nearly silently. Geoff had a thing about creaky doors, and was strict about keeping all the doors in their safe houses well-oiled. Two people stepped in, smiling at Gavin and Michael, tangled up in their sleep on the couch, each clutching the other tightly enough that there would be bruises and aching fingers in the morning.

They let the Lads sleep, heading back to the bedrooms, where they found Geoff and Ryan, sitting together in one and talking quietly. There was a subdued celebration as the other two walked in, tense shoulders finally releasing and worry-lines smoothing out.

There was a short conversation, and it was decided to let Michael and Gavin sleep (they so rarely did, at least this deeply). Everyone was tired – all except Ryan headed to bed. He stepped out onto the porch, settling into the unnatural stillness of an apex predator waiting to ambush its prey.

* * *

“Hey.”

Michael awoke with a start, the couch shaking beneath him as someone kicked it. He groaned and tried to burrow into the cushions, feeling sick and tired.

“Alright, but if you don’t get up soon, Gavin will have eaten all the pancakes.” Whoever had woken his walked away, and Michael considered this threat. Gavin was ferocious when it came to Geoff’s pancakes, and they were pretty incredible. Maybe Ray was right, he should get up if he wanted any –

Wait.

Michael’s eyes snapped open, memories of last night flooding in. Ray was in Los Santos, Ray was in a helicopter, Ray had _exploded_.

Ray was…here?

Michael hadn’t gotten off a couch so fast since Gavin had accidentally flipped off the safety on his gun in the penthouse. He also hadn’t vaulted a couch since Ryan had inadvertently caused a gang attack near the homeless camp by the overpass.

_“Ray!”_

The other was in his arms within seconds, laughing and complaining that he couldn’t breathe.

“Shut up,” Michael muttered. “I’ll break your ribs if I goddamn please. You deserve it, making me think you died.”

“If you want to break someone’s ribs for that, may I suggest the LSPD instead?” Ray said, though he was squeezing Michael just as tightly in response. “They’re the ones who shot me down.”

“Shut up and take your hug.”

“Alright, fine. Hey, Michael?”

“What?"

“Happy Halloween.”

“Merry Christmas, Ray.”


End file.
